


Spellbound

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving, TxDorA



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel & Dean Winchester Friendship, Dean Winchester Dies, Dean Winchester is saved from Hell, Dean's crossroads deal, Jealous Sam Winchester, John Winchester Dies, M/M, No Apocalypse, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Dies, Up til season 3, but only for ten seconds, endgame wincest, implied soulmates, implied wet dreams, not entirely canon compliant though, or at least neutral, the angels are good guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TxDorA/pseuds/TxDorA
Summary: Sam had always known they were outsiders; hadn’t needed the oh so helpful input from any Harry, Dick or Jane to realize as much when tv had already told him.Or maybe he hadn’talwaysknown; had once been young (and perhaps innocent) enough to not know any better. However, he’d learned; from blurry images on tiny tv-screens whenever their dad found it necessary to rent a motel room for the three of them.On the screen everybody lived in houses rather than an old car driving from one end of the country and then back again over and over and over. Kids didn’t know how to use a gun – Sam might not yet be the marksman his brother was, but he knew how to use every single one in their dad’s arsenal; which was another thing the people on tv didn’t have: a goddamn arsenal of weapons.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26
Collections: Wincest Reverse Bang





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> Made for the [Wincest Reverse Bang](https://wincestreversebang.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Fic inspired by the gorgeous art made by TxDorA, which you can see in full [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708943) and [here](https://tx-devilorangel.livejournal.com/14319.html) and remember to shower them in praise with kudos and comments.
> 
> Beta'ed by my friend, L, who might never be able to look me in the eye again; remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> If I've forgotten some important tags let me know and I'll add them, otherwise kudos and comments are much appreciated
> 
> Final note (spoiler): Loosely follows season 1 & 2 though John Winchester doesn't die until they've defeated Azazel; fic skips over season 3 almost entirely though it's implied Dean faces the same end he did in the show. Complete canon divergence from that point

Sam had always known they were outsiders; hadn’t needed the oh so helpful input from any Harry, Dick or Jane to realize as much when tv had already told him.  
Or maybe he hadn’t _always_ known; had once been young (and perhaps innocent) enough to not know any better. However, he’d learned; from blurry images on tiny tv-screens whenever their dad found it necessary to rent a motel room for the three of them.

On the screen everybody lived in houses rather than an old car driving from one end of the country and then back again over and over and over. Kids didn’t know how to use a gun – Sam might not yet be the marksman his brother was, but he knew how to use every single one in their dad’s arsenal; which was another thing the people on tv didn’t have: a goddamn arsenal of weapons.

Still, that was simply window dressing and if not for one tiny little detail Sam probably could’ve deluded himself into thinking the Winchesters were normal for longer than he had. He could’ve claimed the car was the same as a house - after all, it _was_ home - and pretended handing him dusty tomes on various monsters and making him study them was dad’s version of throwing baseballs or shooting hoops or something else along those lines.  
But every time the tv showed him a glimpse into normality it became glaringly obvious that they were anything but. Among all those baseball throwing fathers and troublemaking kids was the one thing Sam didn’t have; a mom to cook dinner and place band aids on scraped knees and hugging the sting away. In fact, Sam had never known a mom beyond his dad’s quest for vengeance and his brother’s quiet voice singing “Hey Jude” when they’d been left alone in a motel room overnight.

It wasn’t all bad; they might not stay somewhere for more than a few days, might not fit in with the people they were trying to help - able to pretend for a few hours, but always a little too different to fool someone for much longer - but at least they had each other.

Then came puberty and with it the revelation that Sam didn’t even have that.

It was one of those rare occasions where they stayed in the same place long enough their dad thought to enroll his sons in the local school. Sam loved it, learning things that had nothing to do with how to most efficiently kill something or hustling pool or the difference between this monster and that.  
He was blending in better than both his dad and brother; John Winchester’s grief, anger and thirst for vengeance too close to the surface that people would willingly spend much time in his presence. Dean could draw them in like a moth to the flame with his charming smiles and almost meek demeanor, but eventually the glamour would fade and the perfect soldier in their dad’s microscopic army would rear his head.  
But Sam, with his large eyes and shy smiles could pass as ordinary for hours and days on end with just the barest shadow of something different enough to make him interesting. It gave him a look into what life could’ve been like if it hadn’t been for his mother’s death or the dreams he’d been having lately that made him wake up to damp and sticky boxer shorts.

For as long as they stayed Sam was able to push them from his mind, it wasn’t as if dreams meant anything anyway. But then the hunt was over and they were driving towards the next, Dean sitting next to him in the backseat during the day and Dean warm against his back in a narrow motel bed at night; filling all of Sam’s senses as well as consuming his every thought with nothing to distract him from the curve of his brother’s lips or the rippling muscles of his back when he took off his shirt and how the green of his eyes lightened whenever something Sam said made him laugh.

And then he watched that very light dim when their dad shouted yet another order, berated his eldest for not taking proper care of his brother, for not being fast enough; he saw how Dean at 16 was running himself ragged to get their dad’s approval despite nothing he did ever seemed to be good enough.  
It grated on Sam, made his temper flare to the point where he would step between the two of them, would get in dad’s face and yell whatever he could think of, not backing down until Dean put a gentle hand on his arm and pulled him away, dad’s face a landscape of anger and regret before he grabbed his jacket and slammed the motel door shut behind him leaving Sam and Dean alone. Dad came back sometime late into the night, reeking of cheap whiskey and tobacco, Sam carefully watching him getting ready for bed from the safety of his brother’s embrace, Dean’s breath slow and even at his neck proving he was fast asleep, neither of them acknowledging each other as John slipped into his own bed, pulling the covers to his chin.  
In true Winchester style all three of them spend the entire next day ignoring what had been said the day before, worked around the fact that neither Sam nor John were speaking to each other by staying as far from each other as possible and have Dean act as the messenger.

For a while it became their new normal. They’d go about as they always had and at some point the dark circles under Dean’s eyes, some thoughtless comment from John and the ever persistent dreams that plagued the youngest Winchester would push Sam over the edge and they’d be at each other’s throats, Sam screaming his desire to be normal (to not _want_ his brother, and terrified the words would slip out during one of these fights) and John yelling back equally raged about loyalty and family and their duty to save people.  
The older Sam got - the more he couldn’t fool himself into thinking the dreams didn’t mean anything - the more often these fights happened to the point where not even Dean getting between them could stop them yelling at each other.

It’s desperation - to get away, to hide his shame - that has Sam applying for college, and a different kind of desperation - to stay near his brother - that has his stomach in knots once the first acceptance letter arrives in the p.o. box he’s gotten without either his dad’s nor Dean’s knowledge. He decides on Stanford on a whim, applying for grants and scholarships and trying to find the right time to break the news.  
The decision is taken for him when he and Dean enters their current motel room after a successful salt’n’burn to their dad holding an envelope in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. The ensuing screaming match ends when John tells him that if he walks out that door he shouldn’t bother coming back. Numb Sam grabs his duffel and snatches the letter from his dad’s hand, slams the door shut behind him and starts walking in the direction of the nearest bus station.  
He doesn’t hear the muffled yelling from behind the door, the scuffle when Dean wrestles the key to the impala from John or the way his brother calls his name once he’s back outside, Sam already gone from view. It’s probably no more than half an hour before Dean catches up to him though and makes him get in the car. They spend the ride in complete silence, Dean never even turning on the music.

They spend the night in Baby, waiting for the office to open and the first bus to leave and still neither of them say a word, both scared it’ll lead to yet another screaming fight. As they’ve done many time before they watch the sun slowly rise soon followed by a woman unlocking the building in front of them; they watch her move around inside, getting ready for the day and when the first passengers show up the two of them get out of the car, Sam getting his duffel from the back seat, Dean walking around to his brother’s side.  
For a few seconds they can’t even look each other in the eyes, then Dean reaches out and puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders, pulling him close and hugging him tight Sam squeezing back just as fiercely. It doesn’t last long, Sam the first to pull away, send his brother a shaky smile trying to project confidence as he turns and walks away, the sound of Baby’s engine the soundtrack to the beginning of his new life.

College is… not what he expected, but he enjoys it well enough, even manages to be friendly enough with people that he doesn’t have to spend his weekends alone wallowing in thoughts unless he wants to. He’s well aware why he asks Jessica Moore on a date a few months in - different enough no one would ever suspect, similar enough he can pretend - though he has no idea why she accepts. But they are good together and until Dean suddenly stands in their small apartment Sam can fool himself that he’s like everybody else.

There’s nothing to the beginning of the day to signify it’s any different than the nearly four years’ worth of days preceding it. An arm landing on his face startles Sam from his sleep, and as he stubbornly keeps his eyes closed to get maybe an hour more, the arm migrates from his face to his waist as Jess turns to her side, spooning up behind him. Outside he can hear birds and people, the curtains blocking out the light of the sun but not the warmth, his entire body covered in a fine sheen of sweat.  
Behind him Jess starts snoring, the sound and his blatter beginning to make itself known making it clear he’s going to fail in that particular endeavor. Sighing to himself he carefully slips from Jess’ hold and quietly goes to the bathroom. There’s an uncomfortable pressure in his lower abdomen, his boxers are soaked through but it doesn’t take long for him to finish his business and then swallow a couple of pills, instantly alleviating the abdominal discomfort.

Getting the coffee maker started and grabbing a piece of toast he curls up with a book and waits for Jess to wake up.It’s a rare day off for the two of them; no reading or assignments to be done and no classes to attend. They spend most of the day reading and watching tv with the occasional lazy make out session. At four Jess gets up to take a shower Sam staying to watch the last of whatever’s currently on - there’s a guy trying on what appears to be different wedding dresses, and Sam can’t believe there are people who’d want to pay for some of them and is very pleased when the guy chooses one that Sam had thought looked good.  
He can hear the water turn off and a few minutes later Jess calls out that the shower’s free if he wants in. The credits are rolling so he turns off the tv, grabs a towel and gets in. Turning the heat down he just stand here for a minute enjoying the feeling of the running water before grabbing the shampoo and lather up. Scrub, wash and rinse and then take the shower head to direct the stream at a few particular spots, then stand fifteen seconds under the spray just making sure he gets all the soap before he shuts it off, reaches for his towel and dries off.

Unlike Jess Sam wasn’t going to dress up for the Halloween party he was going to be dragged to. He’d tried to convince her to stay home, but she’d kissed him with a grin and declared they were going to have fun. Sam, who knew all too well what lurked in the shadows on a normal day, didn’t argue but put on his usual clothes in protest. Jess grinned, kissed him and dragged him behind her out the door.

At the bar - thoroughly decked out in all things plastic and scary - all Sam sees are more or less drunk college students in more or less elaborate costumes. Jess makes her way to the bar while he looks for somewhere to sit; amazingly he spots a table somewhat off to the side where for some reason people aren’t crowding together. He’s barely claimed it before Jess puts a beer and a shot glass in front of him, and when she moves to the other side of the table he sees Luis - a guy from her biology class, tonight dressed as a zombie it seems - stumble up behind her with his own shot glass raised in greeting. They drink to Sam’s recent test scores, talks, laughs and drink some more, until he manages to convince Jess it’s time to go home.

Less than a week later Sam watches in horror as his last chance of being normal literally goes up in flames.

If getting back into hunting is like riding a bike, then being back with Dean is easy as breathing. Heaving, painful gasps of frigid air that never seem to provide enough oxygen, but easy nonetheless.  
Still, in the early days after Jess it's the purr of the impala's engine and Dean's collection of cassette tapes (as well as his scent and warmth though Sam doesn't dare admit _that_ , not even to himself) that lull him to sleep and ward off most of the nightmares.

And they make a good team; nearly four years apart haven’t changed their ability to anticipate the other’s move in either a fight or interrogation. Dad’s journal the only clue as to how and where to find him, to get insight into the thing responsible for Jess’ death and kill it - Sam’s not entirely sure if it’s his love for her or his guilt over not loving her the way he should have (wanted to, though he’d known he couldn’t) that makes him swear vengeance on the thing. Dean, blessedly, doesn’t comment.

Months upon months of diligently following the journal has Sam’s temper rear its head, makes him lash out at Dean. His brother responds by grabbing his jacket and storm out of their motel room, coming back hours later reeking of cheap perfume and even cheaper beer. It makes something dark and terrible coil in Sam’s stomach, roll through his veins and squeeze around his heart, pressure building behind his tightly shut eyes. Neither of them capable of driving the next day.

One day they get back from a hunt, bruised and bloody and dad is standing in their motel room, telling them about the Colt - a gun that can kill anything, including the demon that killed mom and Jess. With something specific to look for it doesn’t take Sam long to find a lead and soon the Winchesters are heading towards Colorado.  
It isn’t easy but in the end they walk away with the Colt and the name ‘Azazel’.

It turns out not to be as useful as they’d hoped. Most of what they find are old bible passages and nothing that’s not a few hundred years old, until a lucky break sends them on a hunt with a young man who has psychic powers, a little digging proving he has a few things in common with the youngest Winchester. Further digging and they’re left with a dozen people or so who all have in common their homes burning to the ground when they were six months old as well as some kind of psychic power.  
From there it’s easy to identify the signs of demonic activity, to establish some kind of timeline even if it doesn’t bring them closer to either Azazel or its plan.

Waking up in a ghost town, alone at first then a few familiar faces as well as a couple of strangers showing up, isn’t something Sam’s prepared for, though he tries his best to convince them what they’re up against, to help arm and defend themselves, too. He should’ve probably have expected Azazel showing up in his dream though he never would’ve imagined they’d all been brought here to fight each other, for the last survivor to take the mantle of leader of Azazel’s army.  
Sam wakes up and soon it’s only him and the strong one, Jake, fighting each other. He knows he’s losing, can feel it in his useless arm and the way none of his hits seem to rattle the other man. How Jake suddenly lies unconscious on the ground he has no idea, but Sam intends to grab the chance so he raises the iron pipe high above his head, ready to strike down and finish this. A thought crosses his mind, a second’s hesitation before he throws it to the ground just as Dean’s voice rings through the air, a beacon to guide him home.

Worry has never been a good look on his brother and as soon as Sam calls back to him he can see relief washing over him, how his shoulders lose their tension and the beginnings of a smile, only to be instantly replaced by distress and anger, a warning yelled through the beginning thunderstorm and Sam’s world devolves into white hot pain before fading into darkness…

...and then waking up alone in a strange room lying on an old mattress. Getting up is unpleasant to say the least, his back hurting like he’d taken a round of rock salt and a look in the mirror conveniently placed on the wall in front of him shows him the scar of a freshly healed wound he doesn’t quite remember getting. Sam doesn’t really have time to mull it over before Dean’s there, hugging him to the point where he can barely breathe. Not that Sam’s going to complain, it’s been so long since he’s been hugged properly by his brother to the point where he’s nearly drowning in his scent, doesn’t know where he ends and Dean begins.

Eventually Dean lets go, letting Sam breathe once more and leading him to the other room where there’s cold pizza and sodas, Sam suddenly realizing he’s ravenous.  
They eat and Sam tells Dean what happened from he woke up in the ghost town up to the point where he’d seen Dean and dad come towards him, and Dean tells him about the Roadhouse, how dad chased Jake who’d gotten away and how he and Bobby are looking for clues as where to go next while Dean’s been taking care of Sam. At Sam’s insistence they pack up and carry what little Dean had brought with him to the impala and then head’s for Bobby’s house.

Sam doesn’t notice the shock on either man’s face when he steps inside Bobby’s house, is soon immersed in the research they’ve put together and doesn’t hear the excuse they have for dragging Dean outside nor the argument that breaks out when they think they’re far enough from the house to be heard. However, he does notice when they come back inside with Ellen in tow, and once she shows them what Ash had hidden away in the Roadhouse’s safe they soon find the answers to most of their questions. From there a plan takes form and soon they’re off towards Wyoming, Ellen, Bobby and dad in Ellen’s truck, Dean and Sam in the impala.

The ride’s too quiet; the cassette playing on low and Dean’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel crossed with the niggling thought that whatever happened in the ghost town was far worse than Dean told him. The sight of his healed wound flashes through his mind and he’s almost gathered the courage to ask when they come to a stop at their destination. All five of them get out of the cars, none of them can see any signs of either Jake or anybody else making them believe they’ve managed to get here first. They hide the cars as best they can and then themselves waiting for whatever’s going to happen.

It’s a mind numbingly boring wait, all of them scattered behind the various headstones to make sure they can’t be seen by anyone approaching no matter from where. Sam watches as the sun travels across the sky, sinks beneath the horizon and cloud the world in darkness with just a little light from the rising moon and far away stars. He feels alone here, the gun cold in his hand and he should’ve protested when dad said they should all be far enough apart they couldn’t see each other; he misses Dean at his back, feels less confident they’re not too late without his brother’s presence.  
Sam’s this close to step into the open and do _something_ when Jake walks past him followed by the quiet sound of Dean’s footsteps and - presumably at least, his brother’s are the only ones Sam’s ever been able to distinguish from any other sound - the others. He watches Jake step closer to the door before finally revealing himself, gun held steadily pointing at Jake’s chest.

It’s the fearful disbelief, the angry almost accusatory “you’re dead. I cut clear through your spinal cord, man,” that turns the niggling into knowledge, makes anger flare burning hot in his gut and affords him to feel no remorse when he gets to empty the gun into the man; too late to prevent Azazel’s plan to come to fruition but satisfying nonetheless.  
He feels more than hears when Dean is thrown against a headstone, turns in time to see him come to rest on the ground, blood streaming down his face and Azazel walking towards him.  
Being slammed against a tree hurts though not nearly as much as the look on Dean’s face when the demon begins talking, not that Sam can hear what it says over the noise of the devil’s gate, but he knows it can’t be anything good. Uselessly struggling against the invisible hold he watches in terror as Azazel gets up on his feet and cocks the Colt at Dean getting ready to shoot, only to be stopped at the last possible second by dad, somehow managing to pull the demon from its vessel and wrestle it for a few seconds, long enough for Dean to grab the Colt.  
Dad falls to the ground and the demonic smoke floats back into its vessel once more, Azazel getting back on its feet only for Dean to shoot it in the heart. It feels like times stands still for the eternity it takes for the demon to die, Sam falling to the ground and Bobby and Ellen closing the devil’s gate the lock once more falling shut.

Then the world starts moving once more, the Colt falling from Dean’s hand as the brothers rush to their dad’s side, the man only getting a broken “I’m so proud of you both” across his lips before succumbing to his injuries.  
They put him in the back of Ellen’s truck all of them driving back to Bobby’s place to give him a proper hunter’s funeral; the flames barely died down before Sam’s demanding answers Dean refuses to give. He doesn’t have to though, his silence confirmation that Sam’s suspicions are correct.

They stay at Bobby’s for a while. At first it’s to rest and grieve, but Sam soon finds himself pouring through every book and text the older hunter has acquired over decades. None of them provides him with any new information but he stumbles across an old letter from dad to Bobby mentioning a storage room somewhere. When Sam asks Bobby readily shares what he knows and in the morning he and Dean are on their way to Buffalo.

The storage room is filled with weapons, books and notes, various supernatural objects most of which they don’t recognize, as well as all the things you’d expect parents to keep when their kids made them. A sawed off might not be usual but the sentiment behind seems to be.  
They spend hours pouring over the things though in the end they leave the objects and mementos behind, only bringing anything written out into the impala. Then they make sure to leave the room in the same state they found it before trying to find somewhere to stay for they night.

In the following months Dean drags them anywhere there’s even the possibility of a hint of a case much to Sam’s displeasure, as he’d much rather try to find a way out of the deal. At least, Sam thinks to himself while they’re questioning yet another civilian, they’re together, sharing space nearly 24 hours a day; which will hopefully be enough to last a lifetime if he can’t find a solution before Dean’s time is up.  
He doesn’t and it isn’t, something he knows even before he’s hugging his brother’s mangled body, his tears washing the blood from his face.

Four months. That’s how long Sam’s been alone, how long the impala has been parked in the bunker’s garage. He’d learnt of the bunker a week after Dean died, or rather he’d found the journal where dad had written about his dad and the organisation he’d been a member of. From what Sam gathered these Men of Letters, as they called themselves, mostly observed and chronicled supernatural occurrences. John hadn’t written much but Sam had gotten the distinct impression he hadn’t liked them very much, not that Sam could figure out entirely how seeing as they’d all been killed when John was little. However, the important thing had been the mention of a bunker with a vast collection of information about and objects pertaining to all aspects of the supernatural and a description of how to enter it. Following the clues Sam had soon found the key and then made his way back to Kansas and the bunker.

The place is amazing; an enormous archive of everything supernatural, things that not even the most seasoned hunter would’ve believed to be real and Sam has a very brief flare of anger towards dad for never taking them here. He would’ve loved to have known about it _before_ \- before going to Stanford, before Jess and definitely before Dean; can see what it would’ve been like to explore the almost sentient building, cataloguing the artifacts humming with power and pour over the ancient texts amassed in the library which is nearly large enough to fit Bobby’s house. So many hunts would’ve been easier, faster, safer even, with the knowledge gathered here, so much heartache potentially avoided.

Now though all Sam does is leaf through every text, book and tome in said library searching for some way to get Dean back. He’s had to tighten his belt further than it originally went, his clothes are stained and musty, his skin dry and pale like the parchment he’s reading from, eyes bloodshot and puffy and his hair a limp, greasy mess getting in his eyes when he falls asleep at the table he’s sitting at.  
At his left the discarded pile keeps growing, only a few books about the subject of demons and deals with them and of them even fewer seem promising.

The library is quiet; turning on the telly or having music play in the background was something Dean had done, and while Sam had tried at first to play Dean’s tapes it had been too painful of a reminder of what he’d lost, so he’d brought that back out to the impala, had locked her doors and covered her with a tarp he’d found then gone back inside without as much as a glance back.  
He’s startled by a sound that somehow reminds him of large flocks of birds taking off at the same time, the book he’s reading dropped on the table and he looks around, wonders if maybe a bird has gotten trapped in the air ducts or something like that. He can’t see anything, the sound not repeating itself so he picks up the book once more, opens it and takes a minute to find where he’d gotten to.

Sam’s barely gotten a paragraph in before he hears the sound again, a little louder possibly closer and this time accompanied by flickering light. He’s halfway up when they go out and he’s left staring blindly into the darkness. The third time it doesn’t so much sound like the fluttering of numerous wings but more like the beat of a single, gigantic pair follow by the light turning back on, Sam already moving for the shelf where he’s left his gun.

He has to grip it with both hands to keep it steady, the weapon heavier than he remembers where he holds it in front of him carefully making his way across the floor to the door opening. Beyond the library’s walls he can turn left to a kitchen and a small room with a bed that he’d planned to sleep in - he hasn’t even put a sheet on the mattress, doesn’t really sleep all that much these day that it seems like it isn’t worth it when there’s a couch in the library long enough to fit him - as well as the door to the outside wall. He’s not entirely sure what lies to the right, only ventured far enough to see multiple shelves with old artifacts that he figured he’d examine closer if the library didn’t yield any answers.  
However, Sam didn’t think the sound came from the unexplored parts of the bunker so he goes left gun pointing firmly ahead in case there’s an intruder somewhere in front of him. He’s just stepped inside the kitchen and is debating whether to check the bedroom or head straight for the front door when there’s a knock. Which, considering the bunker is in the middle of nowhere and nearly impossible to find if you don’t know where to look for it, shouldn’t happen; Bobby knows where the bunker is, has stopped by a few times to drag Sam outside, but he has a key so it can’t be him. _Knock, knock, knock_ follows in quick succession and he’s staring wide eyed at the door, his feet frozen to the floor.

The bunker is warded against pretty much anything Sam has ever heard of as well as a few things he has no idea what is, so it stands to reason that whoever or whatever is knocking won’t be able to get inside by force. Still, it could be some unsuspecting human in need of help, someone who might be hurt or hunted or anything really. The third knock gets him moving, the gun hidden from view but easy to pull if there’s a threat on the other side. Sam opens the door.

At first all he can make out are two human looking shapes, one slightly taller than the other, both broad shouldered enough Sam assumes it’s two men. The shorter one - a silly distinction really, seeing as it’s hardly a full inch separating them - is wearing some sort of light garment, probably a jacket of some kind considering how late it is. The man takes a step forward and is hit by the faint light spilling out from the bunker letting Sam take in his stubbled face, blue eyes and dark hair, brings him close enough Sam can smell the ozone clinging to his skin mixed with cheap soap.

“Good evening, Sam,” there’s a faint echo of something very old and powerful in the gravelly voice that feels like a punch to the gut. It’s not demonic, at least it doesn’t feel that way, but Sam still lifts the gun high enough it points right at the stranger’s forehead.

“Who are you?” he demands, cocking the gun and trying to keep track of the other person out of the corner of his eye. They doesn’t move but there’s something about them that feels familiar to him. In front of him the dark haired man shifts, seemingly not to avoid the gun Sam’s still holding to his face but to get in front of his companion. For protection, maybe, Sam wonders to himself.

“Castiel.”

Silence, Sam waits for the man to continue but he seems content to stare at Sam; not even the gun, it’s as if he either hasn’t noticed it or doesn’t care about it, like maybe it won’t be able to harm him and as such is of no significance.

“ _What_ are you,” Sam asks, nerves making his finger tighten on the trigger and it takes conscious effort to relax it enough he doesn’t have to worry about firing before it’s necessary.

“I’m an angel of the Lord,” comes the reply as he reaches out and grabs the barrel of the gun. Reflexively Sam pulls the trigger and watches in horrified fascination as the bullet pierces the man’s trench coat, his brow furrowing in confusion when the fabric isn’t stained red with blood and gives up the gun without a fight, watches the bullets fall to the ground as the man secures the weapon. 

That’s when the second person decides to move and Sam has half a second to come to terms with what he’s seeing before an all too familiar voice drawls:  
“Hiay, Sammy.”  
Sam’s quite impressed with himself that a firm grip on the door frame is enough to keep him on his feet. 

The three of them are sitting at the kitchen table, the two men dripping with holy water, the blonde one pressing a piece of paper towel to the sluggishly bleeding palm of his hand, the other’s already healed. Nothing of what he’s tried has had any effect on the two men, and while Sam might be willing to entertain the thought that angels are real, he’s not ready to consider the possibility of his brother being alive and well out of hell’s reach. But he looks like Dean, talks like Dean, even smells like his brother; gunpowder, leather and deodorant, common and yet so uniquely Dean that he can’t be anything else.

“Dean didn’t believe me at first either,” Castiel smiles. They sit so close to each other their shoulders are nearly touching. Sam places a beer in front of them, plops into his own chair and empties half the bottle in one sip. Across from him Dean - he still doesn’t believe it but he can feel it in his gut that it’s his brother - smiles; it’s unsure and barely there but it’s the most beautiful thing Sam has ever seen in his life.  
“It really is me, Sammy.” He holds up his hand sans paper towel, the wound Sam made with a silver knife has stopped bleeding, the edges of it still a little red. There’s guilt for the things he’s just done, to subject his brother to these tests when he’s apparently just crawled out of his own grave; Sam shudders at the thought, pushes it away and sends his own tentative smile back.

“It’s Sam!” Dean grins and it’s as if the last four months have been nothing but a bad dream.

They talk for the rest of the night, Castiel telling the brothers how he had ventured through Hell searching for Dean’s soul. How he’d gotten him off the rack and killed the demon torturing him; how Dean hadn’t been as much healed as rebuilt on the flight back to earth, leaving the soul inside Dean’s body while Castiel had gone off in search of an appropriate vessel. The conversation takes a detour into the differences between celestial and demonic possession, who Castiel’s vessel is and how to ensure he’ll get back to his own life as soon as Castiel can make other arrangements.

By the time it’s way past five in the morning Sam’s head feels ready to explode with everything Castiel has told them and he has no trouble falling asleep on the couch, Dean taking the unmade bed and Castiel remaining at the kitchen table, seeing as he doesn’t need to sleep.

Sam has no idea how long he manages to sleep, but he wakes well rested the last remnants of a pleasant dream lingering at the edge of his consciousness putting him in a good mood. He’s debating going out for breakfast or making himself a cup of coffee first when he remembers last night, remembers _Dean_ and he shoots up from the couch and runs to the kitchen. There he’s met by the sight of the man who’d claimed to be an angel sitting at the table his hands wrapped around a steaming mug and next to him - head on his shoulder, mouth open around a quiet snore - his brother’s sound asleep. The man looks up as Sam skids to a stop and nods a greeting then looks back at his sleeping brother, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sam tries to ignore the jealousy churning in his stomach at the sight.

Two days later Sam hears the flutter of wings and then it’s just him and Dean alone in the bunker.  
It’s awkward, but Sam never thought he’d get to be awkward with Dean ever again so he tries to give his brother space, to not overwhelm him or pressure him to talk knowing full well Dean hates talking about feelings, even more so when they’re his.

Dean does express his happiness to see his baby’s well taken care of seconds before he grabs some tools and disappears beneath her. It feels like a new low when Sam realizes he’s even jealous of the car.

Sam had phoned Bobby and the man had turned up the next day, subjecting Dean to the same tests Sam had already done. When he’d been convinced Dean was really Dean and still human he’d grilled Sam on the topic of crossroads demons and why one shouldn’t make deals with them. Sam had begrudgingly admitted it had been the first thing he’d done back when he’d learnt about Dean’s deal, but the demon had laughed at him and refused. Then Bobby had fondly called them idjets and hugged them tight, staying for dinner before driving back home with a promise to tell Ellen and keep them up-to-date if they suddenly found evidence on the demons that escaped the year before. Dean and Sam looked at each other sheepishly, they’d kind of forgotten amidst the crossroads deal and searching for a way out. Bobby just shook his head at them and threw one last idjet at them before taking off, the two of them waving at him for as long as they could see his tail lights, then they went back inside the bunker.

Dean’s been back topside for a few weeks when Castiel flutters back inside the bunker on an early evening. Sam’s reading at the kitchen table while Dean’s cooking, music on low in the background, one of Dean’s favorite tapes even if Sam isn’t entirely sure who the artist it, just knows it’s one of the most often played since dad gave Dean driving privileges at fourteen.

Sam’s preoccupied with a text in Sumerian he’s trying to translate and doesn’t notice Castiel’s appearance until he’s distracted by his brother’s loud laugh and he looks up to see the two hugging, a small smile gracing the angel’s lips. Jealousy coils in Sam’s stomach when he sees how close they are, watches Dean lift a spoon to the angel’s mouth to have him taste the food and see if it’s done. The angel makes a noise Sam’s never heard outside of porn, Dean’s smile brightening with satisfaction, his hand reaching for the towel to clean the mess on Castiel’s chin.  
Sam only just manages to tear his gaze away before they resurface from their staring match and remember he’s here, too.

Dinner is quiet apart from Dean suggesting that maybe “Cas could take a look at that book, Sammy,” and Sam reluctantly handing it over, watching the angel read from under his lashes while eating the food Dean’s cooked.

Profound bond my ass, Sam thinks to himself as he slams the door shut behind him  
It had been a good day, one of the rare ones where Castiel was who knew where but definitely not anywhere the bunker or Dean; one of those days where Sam could almost fool himself that the last few years hadn’t happened.  
He’d found the records of the artifacts and he and Dean had been trying to pair them together properly to find out which items could be used and which should be stored somewhere far away. There had been quite a few they couldn’t be sure were what they thought so Sam had prayed to Castiel hoping the angel might have time to offer some insight.

He’d tried for hours without as much as a clipped “busy” and then Dean had just said his name and the angel had materialized from thin air. There had been raised voices and anger - Sam’s, having to watch his brother and the angel stare besotted at each other was difficult on the best of days which this wasn’t - and when Sam had asked if it was because the angel didn’t like him, he’d declared that “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” Sam wanted to call bullshit but he’d seen the way they gravitated towards each other, how Dean relaxed in the angel’s company not to mention their epic staring matches where a bomb could go off next to them and they wouldn’t even notice.

Next thing Sam knew a page from a book he’d read a few weeks back flashes before his eyes and he’d rushed off towards his room where he’d hidden it, not wanting either his brother or the angel to see it.

Standing at the closed door Sam pressed his ear to it, and once he was certain Dean hadn’t followed he turned the lock before getting the book out of his sock drawer. Not the most original hiding place but it wasn’t as if anybody but him was going to go through it.  
Considering the number of times Sam had read through that particular page it was no wonder the book opened on the right page as soon as he touched it. Anger and jealousy simmering in his stomach, Sam carefully read over the words once more relieved he didn’t have to leave his room as he already had everything he’d need for the spell.

First he got the photo of Dean he’d taken shortly after they’d left Stanford and pinned it to the page with a paperclip. Next was the pentagram, drawn with his own blood, and then lightning two candles, placed on either side of the pentagram. That done he stared at Dean’s picture imaging what it would be like if Dean loved him the way Sam loved his brother; what it would be like if it was Sam he was having endless staring contests with and Sam that made him smile all happy and bright. Sam freed the picture from the book and placed it on the pentagram then put his hand over Dean’s smiling face. From there it was only a matter of pouring his love - every ounce of it from the most innocent though to the darkest most obsessive desire he’d ever had - into the spell before reciting the words written in the book three times.  
With the last word a gust of warm air blew out the candles, the book snapping shut on its own volition and disappearing, leaving only the photo behind.

With a deep breath Sam unlocked the door and began walking back towards the artifact room, only to stop in his tracks at the sound of Castiel’s voice.

”You need to tell him.” A shiver of fear rolls down Sam’s spine at the angel’s voice, but Dean’s always been too stubborn for his own good scoffs.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cas,” he knows his brother well enough to hear the lie in his voice and Sam has a pretty good idea what they’re talking about.

”I’ve seen your soul, Dean Winchester,” Castiel intones and it’s easy to forget he’s infinitely more powerful than anything else they’ve met when he’s puttering about the bunker, geeking out over some artifact Sam has just found or when he stares fondly at Dean while eating a piece of pie he neither needs nor quite enjoy, but right now his voice’s filled with divine wrath and Sam is regretting every choice he’s made today.  
“I pulled you out of Hell, I can throw you right back.”

Divine wrath or not, Sam’s just gotten his brother back and nothing’s going to take him away again. Despite that thought he’s not entirely aware of stepping into their line of sight, two sets of eyes landing on him. Their faces are blank but Sam can see the worry on Dean’s, can see his hands twitching where he wants to wring them nervously.  
“Tell who what?”

”Nobody’s telling anybody anything.” Castiel quirks an eyebrow and when panic spreads over Dean’s face he smiles; different than the ones Sam’s used to see him aim at Dean but not malevolent. He hopes at least.

”Your brother,” Castiel is cut of when Dean slams his hand over the angel’s mouth, the two having an entire conversation by angry glares and eyebrow movements.  
“Absolutely nothing,” Dean adds then turns to look at Sam. “Cas, on the other hand, would like to apologize for ignoring your prayers. It won’t happen again.” Castiel rolls his eyes but nods obediently at Dean’s pointed look. A beat and then Dean removes his hand and turn to Sam, mouth open as if he’s going to say something only to be interrupted by the angel:

”That Dean’s attracted to men.” Sam watches in fascination as Dean’s face takes on the same color as a sun ripened tomato. “Well, one in particular at least,” Cas adds, making Sam’s heart sink in defeat. Apparently not even a spell could make his brother love him.

”That.. no.. I.. Sammy… Cas,” Dean stutters and for the first time in his life Sam has no idea what his brother’s trying to say. Apparently the angel does.

”You, Sam Winchester.” Which simply does not compute. His brother is most certainly not attracted to him. Sam shakes his head because the angel is clearly mistaken, it must be some kind of side effect to the spell he’d just cast. Sam blanches:  
“It wasn’t supposed to affect _you_ ,” which he hadn’t meant to say. Castiel cocks his head at him, stares at him with an intensity usually reserved for Dean and then he _laughs_ , both Winchesters looking at him in confusion.

”Father, you two are the most stubborn humans ever created. Very well.” Castiel snaps his fingers and the world goes black for a brief second  
and then they wake up somewhere decidedly not the bunker. Sam can feel Dean standing next to him, both of them looking everywhere but each other, both recognizing where they are at the same time. The realization is followed by the sound of wings and Castiel’s gravel voice:  
“Very few humans share a heaven. You’re the first in centuries.”

Sam stares at the scene in front of him; a pair of legs sticking out from under the impala and on the ground next the feet sits a young boy who looks all too familiar. Before his eyes the car, legs and boy disappears leaving behind two young adults chasing each other, their laughter ringing through the air. There’s a shimmer and two middle aged men are sitting on a porch, one with a beer in his hand the other with a book. The first one takes a sip of the bottle and closes his eyes the other begins reading out loud. The first leans over to put the bottle on the floor then reaches over and grabs the other’s hand.  
The scene changes again and again, each time showing the same two people at different stages of what appears to be their life together. Sam’s not even aware he’s crying before he turns his head and sees the tears streaming down Dean’s cheeks, the open longing on his face and Sam mimics the Sam&Dean in front of them and grabs his brother’s hand, lifts it to his face<&p>

and stumbles over air as they’re once more back in the bunker, just the two of them.  


Dean’s the first to recover, grabs Sam’s shirt and pulls him down and in, slots his mouth over Sam’s, selflessly offering everything Sam’s ever wanted and selfishly taking all Sam has to give.

Satisfied he’s completed his mission, Castiel smiles at the two humans he’s watched over since their souls were created; soundlessly he takes off, leaving behind a single gleaming feather to remind them they have Heaven’s blessing.

**End**


End file.
